Sonnet - Epiphany 1; Thrum

Often, from the night I'm suddenly

Clutched by something beautifully profound;

Roused from sleep, though exquisitely,

By the most intoxicating sound.

A flood of imagery slams through my brain,

O, my loves! The most delicious things,

Compelling me to wield the quill again,

And to my soul, the lovely choir sings.

As if possessed, my blessed quill vibrates,

While to the lovely song within I hum,

So wonderful, the things my quill creates!

This elegant process I call the Thrum:

A state of pure creative harmony,

Wherein I bask in literal ecstasy.

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- Jackson Cambridge, 2015.